Painting Passion
by The Dmgirl
Summary: Art meant inspiration, something Shadow could never find. But it found him.


**The Dmgirl:** I'm on a oneshot streak, but I guess that's to be expected. I'm slowly making the transition from "Dim Lights" to "The Three Posts", so I'm basically making up for lost time.

For those interested, I'll let you know that, as usual, a song inspired this. "The Red Strokes" is another of my favorites from Garth Brooks. Unfortunately, the title of the song had nothing to do with this story, so I had to scratch it. Hope you guys like it!

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing but the plot.

**Painting Passion**

Shadow wasn't one for art. It was something he usually left for others to do. Naturally talented and a fast learner, he knew himself to probably master them quickly, and probably eclipse the ones who worked so hard to get anywhere he would in three lessons. Not that he cared, of course, but Maria would have been sorely disappointed in him if he even tried.

But his heart wasn't listening. Not this time. Inspiration had somehow seeped into his mind, and directed him in front of an easel and blank canvas. He could remember buying those a few minutes before, along with the paints and brushes. And the material was calling out to him, begging him to draw the image in his mind.

He grabbed one of the multiple brushes, dipped it in paint, and left the first stroke on the canvas. Red. Like his eyes, the streaks on his quills, the blood that ran through his veins, and the passion that had lead him to this.

He bit his inner lip as the strokes multiplied, and his hand began to paint the scene that haunted him, the image that seemed to toy with him as it moved, made his heart pound in memory.

He could still feel the gentle brushes on his shoulders. He could still see those eyes as they bore through him, telling him to trust the one who was ready to give him everything and more. He could still feel the shivers when their lips met. He could still feel his resolve melting as he gave into a desire he had never known off. He could still feel his personal and intimate space clearly being invaded, and not caring about it for a minute.

His ears flicked at an opening door, but he couldn't turn. He couldn't stop. If he did, it would fade. It would be locked in a corner of his memory forever, never as fresh as it was now.

"I was wondering what you were doing went you went out this morning."

He felt a smile appear fleetingly on his face as he continued, blending the black and blues with minute precision. He knew art wasn't technical, only a matter of heart, but, as his own thudded against his chest, he knew that he was filled with both, right now, and that nothing could stop him.

"So, why the sudden want to paint?"

"You'll see," was all he could answer, giving a fleeting glance at the bat next to him. Rouge was still her robe, holding her morning coffee in hand. He hadn't eaten. He couldn't even think about food, right now.

"If you say so," she said as she moved away, and let him continue. Continue painting the moment that had marked him beyond what he ever thought possible.

He listened to her sip her coffee as he finally came to the important part, the center of the piece. Figures, two of them, caught in an embrace that would change their lives forever. Shadowed by the dim light, yet radiating by their passion. He let a smile play on his face as he softly painted the highlights and added more details. Blue, black, red. The colors clashed, yet found harmony in their center, drawing the impossible.

With trembling hands, he finally set the brushes down, unable to look away from the painting. The soft moonlight coming through the painted window held nothing compared to the one the two figures gave off. Their light was warm, hot, passionate. And it reminded him all too well of the night that had given him inspiration.

"Is that..."

"Yes," he cut her, finally finding the strength to tear his eyes away from the canvas to look at her.

"When did he..."

"Last night," he replied, shivering as he looked back. Reminder. A reminder of the passionate kisses they had shared, of the love he had been subjected to. The reminder of a memory that burned him like the morning sun.

"Wow," she said breathlessly as he swallowed, thinking out his options. Should he hide it? Get rid of it? Put it out for all eyes to see? Somehow, he knew that his … "partner" wouldn't appreciate this being public. Not that secrecy was necessary, but a painting like this one was probably going to set him off.

He turned to the painting, and hesitantly laid his fingers on the dried paint, slowly tracing the features of the one that had shared this night with him. They would have to talk. They would have to see each other again.

"What do you plan on doing with it?" Rouge asked, pulling his gaze away from the canvas.

"Do you have any kraft paper?" he answered as he got up. He would have to ask. It was the only thing he could do.

* * *

He stopped the wrapped canvas from slipping out of his hands once more as he rang the doorbell, biting his inner lip. It was crazy. It was completely insane. He couldn't be doing this out of his own free will, was he?

"Shadow?"

He had to control the shiver than ran down his spine. That voice. He could still hear it calling out to him as their breath mingled.

"What are you doing here?" he heard as the door opened wide, and not missing the slight sound of surprise. "And whatcha got there?"

"Can I come in?" he managed through his clogged throat, glad it was missing the stammer. At least, he could keep his dignity.

"Sure," was answered with a smile. Not the same one he had seen the night before, but enough to make him nearly return it.

He found himself seated in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, and eyes still trained on the hidden painting. He would have to show it. There was no way out of it.

"So why the visit? Couldn't get enough of me?" was joked as his host sat down, and he could feel that gaze trying to catch his attention.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he answered, finally meeting the green eyes his mind couldn't get rid off. The same emerald green that had managed to light him like a fire the previous night.

"Am I really?" came the sarcastic reply before a gloved finger pointed the canvas. "What is that, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," he said, putting the cup down. He had to get up. He had to show this to him. But he didn't have the strength. His knees were already giving up on him, and he wasn't even standing.

"Can I take a look?"

He swallowed. And nodded.

"Be careful," he breathed as he watched his host stand, waving dismissively.

"Careful is my middle name, Shads."

He rolled his eyes. More like Daredevil or Speed demon, he thought as he took a sip of his coffee, yet monitoring the other's movements closely. He didn't want it to be ruined. If it was...

He flinched at the sound of ripping paper, wondering for a moment if it was safe. If his host's best friend showed up, he was as good as dead.

"… Wow."

Black ears flicked at the whisper, and he turned to the blue hedgehog that stood motionless before the uncovered painting. The shivers once again ran up his spine, and he was powerless to stop them, certainly when the second subject of the picture was present.

"Who – Who made this?" was asked softly, and he slowly set his cup down once more.

"I did. This morning," he answered, eyes betraying his will and looking at the painting. "I couldn't get the image out of my head."

And he still couldn't. He had managed to calm his urge, but the desire was still there, and he couldn't crush it.

"… Is that..." he heard as his host pointed the two figures, wanting to turn around, but unable to look away. And he stood up, dragging the cup although the table.

"Yes," he replied as he walked next to his host, trying his best to control his clammy hands and the shivers on his skin.

"… Wow," the blue one repeated before turning to him. "Guess I really left an impression on you, then."

The tone was joking, but the green that met him held gratefulness, tenderness. The same emotions they had held the night before, only more contained.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Faker," he replied, knowing all too well that his own gaze probably reflected the look he was being given. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and the memories of the previous night run wild.

"Can I keep it?" was asked with a small smile as the face drew closer.

"I guess you can. I wasn't sure what to do with it," he heard himself say, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

"Cool, 'cause I think I know where I can put it," the whisper washed over his lips.

He felt himself shake as peach arms snaked their way around him. He melted as a moist muscle asked for entry. He nearly lost the cup in his hands as he heard the soft moan.

Shadow wasn't one for art. He was too technical, too scientific to even think about it. But in those arms, he could feel the inspiration. He could feel his heart fill itself to burst. He could feel the passion, the delicate nuances that were needed. He could feel every brush, every stroke he needed to apply to forge the image in mind.

In the arms of Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow could be the artist he never wanted to be.


End file.
